


keep the light in

by Mira_Jade



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: . . . erm his children I meant to say, . . . obviously, . . . that is Hamilton's story and he is sticking to it, Act II, Dad!Burr, Dad!Hamilton, Everything is John Adams' fault, Gen, George Washington Knows Everything, Hamilton could take over the world with his minions, Humor, Kid Fic, Light-Hearted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 18:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5343737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mira_Jade/pseuds/Mira_Jade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“God be good, Alexander, you commanded entire battalions during the war, but you can't keep track of a troupe of <i>adolescents</i> - ”</p><p>“ - unlike you, Burr, I actually have a real job trying to keep this nation's economy afloat, which I was doing when the miscreants escaped. And, <i>for the record</i>, you too fought in the war; your ability to command is under as much scrutiny as my own if this is ever found out. So it will never be found out, agreed?”</p><p>“ . . . agreed.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	keep the light in

Perhaps somewhat portentously, the day began in a most ominous way: Alexander Hamilton groggily blinked into awareness from a shallow slumber to find himself at his desk, with an ungodly crick in his neck and a half-penned letter stuck to his forehead, no doubt leaving a parade of black script across his skin in a blatant reminder of his unconventional sleeping arrangements. Such was, perhaps predictably, not an altogether unfamiliar way of breaking his repose, with him having fallen asleep at some bit of work or another that he had not intended to sleep on dozens of times before. When he looked down, he was not surprised to see John Adams' looping scrawl across the head of the letter he had been responding to, and was, thus forth, determined to blame the rest of the day on the vice president. It was a decision which served him well from the first, for he then heard it again: a repeat of the high, piercing scream that had first forced him to open his eyes and greet the day anew.  
  
The scream, lamentably, broke off to engage in a pattern of shrieking – a sound which at first had his father's heart quickening before he realized that no, none of his offspring were in harm's way, but rather -  
  
\- Eliza would inflict bodily pain upon his person once she learned that they had gone through not one nanny, but _two_ , in the time she had been away visiting her sister in London, he thought next . . . and there were still some weeks before her return in which for that number to grow.  
  
Hamilton sighed through his nose as the shrieking turned to cursing, with the usually kind, if somewhat droll, Mrs. Fleming asking heaven and earth for the strength to help her endure the hellions she was entrusted with. In a rote manner, he then reached down and opened the appropriate drawer so that he could draw up her severance papers and pen a note to forward the remainder of her salary to her new address, along with a bonus for her having endured as long as she had – namely, an entire month while Mrs. Hamilton was away. Their former nanny, one Mrs. White, had not lasted the first twenty-four hours following her mistress' departure.  
  
He then frowned to hear the sound of stampeding feet above his head as his children ran from the nanny's righteous fervor, trailing giggles in their wake. Normally, he knew nothing but pride for his genius having been so completely absorbed by his son. Philip's mind was one that fascinated him, filling his father's heart with love and contentment as he nurtured it and did his best to see it grow; but, at eight years old, the boy currently had but little of a positive outlet in channeling his brilliance, and, unfortunately, he yet preferred to use his rather impressive powers of reasoning for devious means and Machiavellian ends.  
  
Angelica, not quite two years Philip's junior, worshiped the ground her brother walked on, and wherever Philip was to be found she was never far behind. His daughter was sharp-eyed and unerringly clever, just like her namesake, and Philip found a willing and capable lieutenant for his misdeeds in the form of his sister. Of an age with Angelica was one Fanny Antill, whom he and his wife had adopted following the unfortunate tragedies that had befallen her family, and the sweet, brown-eyed girl was so eager to make a place amongst her new siblings that she, unfortunately, was willing to do their dirty work in order to secure her belonging within the children's hierarchy. Alexander the younger was only four, and not yet old enough to realize that he could decide for himself and be his own person, rather than his brother's minion, and that unfortunate streak of unthinking loyalty was only made worse by the arrival of baby James – who had taken the cherished spot of _youngest_ from Alexander, and thus left the boy with a sullen streak of unpredictable emotions that Hamilton was, admittedly, at a loss of how to sooth without his wife by his side.  
  
Fast on the wings of his thoughts, he heard a rather ominous thudding from the floor above his study. He winced, wishing, not for the first time, that Eliza was not an ocean away. He was quite lost without her, he'd come to find, in more ways than one.  
  
Sure enough, the next half hour saw to the resignation and departure of one Mrs. Flemming, whose face was composed and stoic underneath her mask of honey and feathers – and, how that feat was managed, Hamilton did not want to know, nor would he ask – leaving him as the unexpected commander of a battalion of some of the most devious troops ever to stand a post in New York.  
  
It was a position which, unfortunately, left him in a bit of a quandary, for that day required his presence at the Osgood House to work on his debt plan and drafts for the maritime law enforcement agency he was trying to build, and he could not take the day for himself when their nation was still in such a fragile state of afterbirth – the same as a colt taking to the pasture for the first time, and stumbling as it learned how to use its long, spindly legs for power and endurance. And thus, he could not . . .  
  
He momentarily thought of leaving the children at home before thinking of his poor housekeeper - a saintly woman whom he nonetheless did not want to test, knowing that Eliza would never forgive him if he lost both the nanny and housekeeper in one fell swoop. He would be asking much of the woman just by requesting that she tend to baby James for the day.  
  
His second, and perhaps more pressing thought was: _the_ _neighbors_.  
  
Unfortunately, that left but one option as he stood before the line of children and summoned his most confident smile – the one that normally had Washington raising a knowing brow and Adams glowering, now that he thought about it – to say, “How would you like to go on an adventure today?”  
  
Alexander, predictably, looked intrigued, as did dear Fanny – who quickly schooled her features to take on Angelica's more unconvinced, dubious expression, which she, in turn, took from Philip, damned ringleader that he was. Hamilton fixed his eldest with a hard stare, knowing that if he could get him to come to heel, then the others would fall in line.  
  
“What sort of adventure did you have in mind?” was Philip's reply, sounding for all the world as if he were a lawyer in a position to negotiate terms and conditions. Hamilton forced his smile to hold, but found it a trying thing.  
  
“Since you have so kindly provided Mrs. Fleming with a reason to take her leave, you are coming to the Osgood House with me,” Hamilton tried to hold his polite expression, even when his voice allowed no room for argument. “There you shall work on your studies while I finish my business, and if you prove that you are not the unscrupulous hellions you have been accused of being, perhaps we may go out for ice cream on the way home, how does that sound?”  
  
“You mean for us to go to the palace?” little Alexander's eyes were wide and bright to say. Hamilton felt triumph fill him at the sight: _one down_.  
  
“It's not a palace, you dullard,” Philip rolled his eyes at his younger brother, “it's just a house like any other.”  
  
“Oh,” Alexander's features crawled with distaste as he quickly corrected himself, carefully looking at his brother and trying to adopt his droll, unimpressed pose. “That does not sound like fun,” he pursed his lips to say.  
  
“Oh but it _is_ a palace,” Hamilton corrected, internally wincing at how very _un-republican_ that sounded, even while knowing that desperate times called for desperate measures. “And there are all sorts of treasures afoot for those who know how to search for them, but only if you are very good, and very, _very_ quiet while your father works.”  
  
Even Angelica's eyes flickered at the mention of treasure, and Fanny bounced once on the balls of her feet before glancing to Philip. Alexander too carefully watched his brother for a cue of how to respond.  
  
Which led Hamilton to set his jaw and firmly say, “And, what's more than that, it's what your father is telling you you shall do. It would be in your best interest to listen to me, especially after the stunt you pulled with Mrs. Fleming.”  
  
Philip looked boldly up at him, but he must have seen _something_ in his eyes, for a moment later he sighed and conceded defeat. Hamilton felt his prospects for the day brighten, and he clapped his hands together as he once again rolled his neck to relieve it of the rather stubborn kink that had settled there. “Excellent,” he approved when there were no further protests. “Fetch your schoolbooks and your cloaks, we shall leave as soon as you are ready.”  
  
The children obediently filed away, all but for Philip, who went halfway up the staircase before pausing to look back down at his father and ask, “Will you get in trouble for bringing us to work?” There was a curious line to his voice as his brow furrowed, and Hamilton fought not to frown at his insight. “Besides Wash and Nelly, I've never seen another child around, and they _live_ there.”  
  
“No, I will not get in any sort of trouble for bringing you along,” Hamilton waved a vague hand to blithely reply. “Of course not.”  
  
_Of course not._  
  
Which was why he timed their arrival perfectly, knowing that Washington would be out of the house for his morning jaunt on horseback, and a great deal of the scurrying bureaucrats would be out following his path through the city, flocking to try and procure a moment of his time - which was ridiculously silly, Hamilton thought as he rolled his eyes, for nothing put the former general in a worse mood than _that_. After almost a year, Washington still had yet to settle and adapt to the urban shape of New York, and it was to the detriment of more than one political career for what time he could steal outdoors to be interrupted in such a manner. Further influencing Hamilton's plans was it being a Friday morning, which meant that Mrs. Washington would be preparing to have her circle of ladies by for tea at noon, which meant that Mr. Fraunces – his true adversary in this maneuver - would be quite occupied making sure that everything was  _just so._ Thus, he was left with a small window in which to see that his children slipped into the Osgood House and stole through the long halls to his office, stopping when they heard voices and advancing only when the coast was clear.  
  
Only once did he hear the grand, overly pompous tones of Fraunces' voice as the steward chastised an unfortunate maid, and they waited unseen around the corner for the path to clear. The Jamaican took his duties tending to the presidential household most seriously, and he had but little liking for Hamilton personally. To further exacerbate things, his son Andrew was a clerk in the Treasury Department, and he was, Hamilton was convinced, ever just waiting for an opportune moment to call him out on some perceived misdeed or manner of misconduct. Such was, he knew with a gritting of his teeth, the most aggravating aspect of public service: dealing with negative, petty voices like Andrew Fraunces. Yet, as Washington told him with a sigh when he asked – again – for the man's removal, if they let go every person whose thoughts and opinions did not align with their own, what kind of government would they then be building? Such actions, if taken, would be too much like the government whose thumb they just fought a war to escape, and _freedom of speech_ was to be one of the cornerstones of their fledgling nation . . . unfortunately so, at times.  
  
Even so, Hamilton reflected with a glower, such was easy for Washington to say. He did not have to deal with mouths like Adams and Madison and _Jefferson_ -  
  
\- but his darker turn of thought was interrupted when they at last arrived at his office, and Alexander's eyes grew wide to see: “Boats!”  
  
At first, Hamilton's brow furrowed as he took the cloaks from the girls and hung them up by the door. But then he looked, and saw where Alexander had quite happily settled himself by the table off to the side his desk, where there were indeed model ships of the fleet he wished to build for his cutter service – his coast guard. Alexander, who had been going through a period of nautical fascination since he'd been told bedtime stories of his father's sea-journey from St. Criox to America, was quite happy as he examined the models. His preoccupation was fine with Hamilton so long as the boy did not go about taking the ships apart and putting them back together again - as he had done with most of the model ships he had been gifted with from his parents so far.  
  
“Yes,” Hamilton smiled to look at the ship Alexander held in hand – a two massed schooner that was already being dubbed the _Massachusetts_ , or, it would be, once he got his plan for its building through Congress – which was always more painful than pulling teeth, and left just as foul an aftertaste. “Amongst other things, my burdens this day include paperwork for setting up a cutter service - for tariffs and customs are to be a large part of this nation's income, and we must crack down on smuggling and illegal trade if we wish to - ”  
  
But he was unexpectedly interrupted by his daughter, who tilted her head to unerringly repeat, word for word, what she must have overheard from his speaking to Eliza of the project: “But the damn planters are buggering your plans every time you try to - ”  
  
“ - _Angelica!_ ” he exclaimed, his eyes wide as he turned to face the girl – his _little_ girl, who should not ever be saying such things, and doubly so when they were repeated straight from his mouth. “You cannot repeat everything your daddy says, especially not here, not _ever_ here, do you understand me?”  
  
“But,” Angelica's brow furrowed in puzzlement, “you _did_ say - ”  
  
“Yes, sweetie, I know what I said,” Hamilton reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose as Philip snickered – which was not helping the situation _at all_. “But, please, for now, be a good lass and help your brother with his Latin. There will be no more talk of our _dear_ southern neighbors while we are here, mark me?”  
  
Alexander groaned aloud as he put the ship down, having only heard the part about his studying Latin. “It's silly to learn a language that we'll never use,” he muttered under his breath as he, nonetheless, obediently plopped in one of the chairs surrounding the table to draw out his textbook.  
  
“Latin is the language of the law,” Hamilton did not quite agree with his son. “It is the tongue of the civilized world.”  
  
“I thought that was French?” Fanny piped up to say, her voice small as she too took out her textbook for the day. Hamilton fought not to make a face at her words - for he would not tolerate his daughters being educated in mere frivolities while their brothers were groomed for the larger world. And French, while vastly important, was not the mark of an educated mind as Greek and Latin were.  
  
“French is what you use to insult people behind their backs,” Philip gave a slanted smirk to say – which was another unflattering quote parroted from his father, which the boy _knew_. Hamilton sighed upon catching the devious look in his son's eyes, and counted to ten. Twice.  
  
“That is the real reason Jefferson hates you,” Angelica nodded sagely, “you speak French better than he does, and he cannot bear it.”  
  
“Remember what we said about not repeating everything daddy says, sweetie?” Hamilton forced himself to use his most saccharine tone of voice. “See that your doing so starts now.”  
  
Angelica blinked up at him, and her eyes were large and dark when they caught the light. “Yes, Father,” she nonetheless promised him, and when she smiled she resembled her namesake so unerringly that it was, for a moment, painful to look upon. Truly, they had not gone wrong in naming her, Hamilton thought with a pang.  
  
But, he was then happy to see that his children applied themselves to their studies in a reasonably efficient manner. For a moment, there was nothing to be heard but for the scratching of quills and the rustling of paper as they set themselves to their tasks. Satisfied, Hamilton took a seat at his desk and started in on his own work for the day. He predicted that he had about twenty minutes of peace in which to write – give or take – and he would use those twenty minutes as well as he could. With that thought in mind, he turned his attention to the blank parchment before him and started to cramp his words onto the page, letting the flow of his prose and the shape of his arguments take him until -  
  
\- he realized that something was not right.  
  
It was quiet, it took his distracted brain a long moment to recognize, _too quiet . . ._ and it had been for much too long – much longer than twenty minutes, he at last understood. He squinted to look at his timepiece, and cursed the one-track nature of his mind for drawing him so deeply into his world of words and ink that he had been distracted for over an hour. An _hour_ , in which time -  
  
\- the children, they were _gone,_ it took his higher reasoning a befuddled moment to catch up with the information his senses were feeding him. _The children were gone._  
  
. . . gone.  
  
_Gone._  
  
He felt panic fill him as he instantly imagined a dozen places where he _did not_ want them to be in the house, and if they were -  
  
\- but no. _No._ Hamilton forced himself to breathe. He needed to calm, to _think_ , and then he could act. He had to approach the situation as a tactician, he reminded himself – as a military man – and to that end, he considered just where the children would have wandered off to. Deeply, he filled his lungs, and then slowly exhaled, considering -  
  
\- _the kitchens,_ was his first thought, where sugary confections and delicate pastries were no doubt being prepared for Mrs. Washington's tea service. He only hoped that Fraunces did not find them first, he thought with a wince – or, heaven forbid, _Jefferson -_  
  
\- but no, _no_ , he would not allow himself to consider the worst until it happened; down that path laid only destruction for any commander.  
  
So, he took in a deep, cleansing breath, and then another. Once his wits were sufficiently recovered, he darted out into the hallway, opening the first door closest to his own, only to find the room empty, and he repeated the same with the second. That hall then concluded, he had not even turned around the first corner before finding that he'd barreled straight into the back of some poor, unsuspecting soul who too was cautiously peering into an empty office - a fact which Hamilton's mind sped past in favor of latching onto the identity of his victim.  
  
“Mr. Burr, sir,” Hamilton greeted, surprised as he recovered his balance once more. “Or, should I say _Attorney General_ Burr?” He had to fight to keep the title from sounded as a foul oath as it slipped from his mouth.  
  
“Secretary Hamilton?” If Aaron Burr was taken aback by his rather abrupt – and violent - arrival, he quickly hid his feeling so behind a blandly polite expression – one that normally had Hamilton itching to poke and prod until he was able to inspire something, _anything_ else from his features. He turned his fingers into fists, but if his doing so helped, its influence over his annoyance was slight enough to be missed entirely.  
  
“What brings you here today?” Hamilton forced himself to nonchalance as he politely inquired, all the while trying to discreetly peer over the other man's shoulder and down the hall, with all of his senses still tuned towards his missing children.  
  
“I am here for a meeting with our president,” Burr replied, blinking as if the answer should have been an obvious one.  
  
Hamilton frowned, already seeing where that story did not add up. “The president holds his levees on Tuesday and Thursdays - ”  
  
“ - where, as you well know, nothing of any true importance is ever discussed,” Burr voice sharpened over the word _importance_ , even though his expression never once changed to betray any further emotion over the matter.  
  
“Which you should know all about, Mr. _Attorney General_ ,” once again, the title came out as a slur from his mouth. He frowned, and looked down to see the leather roll of parchment he held in his right hand. “Is that Governor Clinton's work?” he asked, trying to keep his voice as bland as he could, and failing.  
  
A minute twitch, a slight pressing of his upper lip upon his lower lip – these were his only signs as to Burr's annoyance. Yet, after their years of knowing each other, they were signs that Hamilton had learned to read, and read well.  
  
“No,” Burr finally responded, the one syllable a fairly clipped word from his mouth. He took in a breath through his nose before his voice softened to a more amiable tone to say, “These proposals are my own opinions.”  
  
Hamilton snorted aloud at that - he could not help himself. “I didn't know that you had any of those, Burr,” he failed to keep his chuckling at bay as they both started to move down the hall at the same time. Surreptitiously, he tried to peer into the open doors as they passed, keeping an ear out for his children as he did so.  
  
“I say the right thing at the right time,” Burr did not quite agree with his assessment of his character - not that he ever agreed with him on much, anyway. “Such tact is demanded of public service, which you should well know by now, Mr. Secretary.” He felt the low blow as an itching between his rib bones, not sinking deep enough to cut through flesh. “Even your own president - ”  
  
But Burr lost his argument there as Hamilton swallowed another bubble of laughter to interrupt, “I want you to spend any sort of time with Washington in a small, confined space, and then _dare_ to tell me that he's passively unopinionated and allows others to think for him.”  
  
“But he _is_ prudent,” Burr countered, “cautious, even. He weighs all of his options before deciding on a course of action – and I like to think that I am much the same.”  
  
“But he _does_ reach a decision,” Hamilton still did not quite agree. “Unlike you, Burr; you have always been – and always will be - a feather on the breeze when our nation is in the midst of a hurricane.”  
  
“I am a steady hand at the helm,” Burr returned with a shrug. “Once again, you are entitled to your opinions, Mr. Secretary, but here I must insist that they are wrong.”  
  
“Yet, now is a time when we need a bold hand to paint a masterpiece – this government cannot be a gaggle of ladies playing at watercolours, _Mr. Attorney General._ But, no matter, you can leave this with me,” he held out a hand for the leather folder. “Washington will only have me read it first and summarized its contents, anyway.”  
  
For that, the corners of Burr's eyes did narrow, and Hamilton frowned, caring not for the look on the other man's face. “My, my, my, but some things _do_ never change,” Burr shook his head to say.  
  
“What is that supposed to mean?” Hamilton felt his lips draw away to bare his teeth. Again, his fingers clenched into fists.  
  
And Burr, his smooth, bland words nonetheless unable to mask the way his eyes _burned_ , merely raised a brow to point out, “If Washington has styled himself our elected king, then you are his prime minister – a glorified secretary . . . a trumped up aide. As I said, my friend: some things never change.”  
  
“I resent that,” Hamilton seethed to say. But that corridor too was absent of his children, and he felt his stomach twist to think of just where they could be and what sort of trouble they could be causing. He did not have time for another pointless debate with Burr, he really did not. “But I now have important duties to attend, so as much as I am enjoying our banter, let's just save it for dinner. For now - ” but he was surprised when both he and Burr reached for the same closed office door at the same time.  
  
He frowned, taken aback by the way Burr tried to disguise his intention to do so, and, suddenly suspicious, he asked, “Why do you need to go in there?”  
  
And a surprising thing then happened: the renowned lawyer's words failed him, and he faltered. “I merely . . . I only . . . I am just - ”  
  
“ - not as good a liar as you thought you were?” Hamilton retorted. “Speak plainly, sir.”  
  
“I may have . . . _misplaced_ something of mine,” Burr finally summoned his words as if he were a prisoner trying to stand composed before the gallows. He tilted his head as regally as he could to say so, and made a firm line of his jaw.  
  
“Misplaced?” Hamilton frowned when comprehension still eluded him. “And you think to have _misplaced_ whatever it is in _Madison's_ office -”  
  
“ - I cannot find my daughter,” Burr finally hissed out through his teeth. “One moment I was simply trying to explain to that obnoxious steward that I had legitimate business with the president -”  
  
“ - _Fraunces_ ,” Hamilton muttered darkly. “He thinks that this is Windsor Castle, and all is his domain to micromanage within.”  
  
“Yes, Mr. Fraunces, _him_ ,” Burr agreed testily. “During my time . . . _discussing_ the legitimacy of my appointment, I looked away for but a moment, and then . . .” but he raised his hands in a helpless manner, and let his arms fall back to his sides again in frustration. “She was supposed to be with her mother – who is here today for Mrs. Washington's tea service, but as I could not convince her to stay with the ladies . . .”  
  
“We may have a matching conundrum, then,” Hamilton summoned his own courage to confess after the passing of a long moment. He swallowed to explain, “You see -”  
  
“ - you are serious?” but Burr's mind was quicker than that, and he easily caught onto his dilemma. “Alexander, how many of your brood are on the loose?”  
  
“Three,” Hamilton answered, and then added with an ease that was becoming second-nature, “and Fanny, too.”  
  
“God be good, Alexander,” Burr sighed to say, “you commanded entire battalions during the war, but you can't keep track of a troupe of _adolescents -_ ”  
  
“ - unlike you, Burr, I have a _real_ job trying to keep this nation's economy afloat, which I was doing, and doing well, when the miscreants escaped,” he could not keep himself from snapping in reply, suddenly pushed towards the edge and over. “And, _for the record,_ you too fought in the war, your ability to command is under as much scrutiny as my own if this is ever found out. So it will never be found out, agreed?”  
  
A long second passed, pregnant with silence. And yet: “Agreed,” Burr finally let the one word hiss out from between his clenched teeth, and that was that. “Well then,” he folded his arms to say. “What is your plan of attack, Lieutenant Colonel?”  
  
“You are looking for _me_ to plan?” Hamilton raised a brow in exaggerated surprise. “I thought that I was nothing more than a trumped up secretary, a glorified _aide_ ,” but he took note of how the furrowed line between Burr's brows dug in deeper, and he quickly bit off the rest of what he'd intended to say in favor of admitting, “Usually, I just follow the smell of smoke.”  
  
“Or the sound of screams,” Burr added with a sigh. “Theodosia has had a fascination with frogs as of late, which few on the household staff appreciate.” After a heartbeat, he noticed the way Hamilton was staring, and defended himself by saying, “She found my anatomy textbooks. She is not interested in her dolls – and, God help me, I've encouraged her. She learns Latin and mathematics faster than I ever did, and she already has a better grasp on horsemanship than most boys her age - ”  
  
“ - she'll get along wonderfully with Angelica, then,” Hamilton muttered to say. Indeed, the world was not yet ready for such a partnership, he feared.  
  
But it seemed that Providence had one eye open on them, for a moment later they heard a shriek of laughter – a very _familiar_ shriek of laughter, and he knew . . .  
  
_“ - God_ _be good_ _,”_ Hamilton breathed on an exhale. “Did they get into Jefferson's office?” The Virginian would never let him forget it, not _ever_. Hamilton almost wished that they'd riffle through the _president's_ things before the secretary of state's, so long as it meant -  
  
“ - I think it's worse,” Burr then muttered in reply. Hamilton glanced to see that the other man had gone impressively pale, and his eyes were wide and disbelieving. “I think . . . _your boss_ . . .”  
  
It seemed that fate had heard Hamilton's unspoken thoughts, and moved to make them a reality. He blanched, and protested aloud, “I did not mean it! _Damn_.”  
  
. . . damn, damn, damn, _damn._  
  
The two men nearly tripped over themselves as they rushed down the hall and flung the doors to Washington's office open, prepared for all sorts of horrific scenes within, and instead saw . . .  
  
. . . their children, Hamilton puzzled to see, with each one sitting quietly, and politely, in a wholly foreign and civilized manner to his eyes.  
  
His gaze was first drawn to the tallest girl in the room. Nelly - Mrs. Washington's granddaughter, whom the Washingtons had raised as their own since her father's death - was sitting with the younger Alexander at the president's desk. The little boy was turning over a model ship in his hands, one that Hamilton recognized as a parting gift from Admiral de Grasse after the war, and, knowing his son's penchant for taking apart such models, he just barely kept himself from lunging forward to take the ship away before it could come to any sort of harm. But, he realized next, the older girl was patiently pointing out parts of the ship in Latin, and Alexander, oddly enough, was _listening_. He was even writing down in the workbook he shared with another little boy – Nelly's younger brother, Wash, Hamilton recognized, who was smiling quietly and shyly at the new friend he had made.  
  
He then looked to see Angelica and Fanny sitting on the room's small ring of couches, and with them, sure enough, was one Theodosia Burr. The girls had tea and scones out on the table between them, and their books were pushed aside in favor of them talking in the mile a minute manner women often used as they grew acquainted with one another. It was, he had to admit, a surprisingly domestic scene, and yet, most surprising of all was seeing that the President of the United States of America had surrendered his desk to the children in favor of sitting on the floor with Philip, where they were quite engrossed in a game of draughts.  
  
Though the children looked up at their fathers' arrival, Washington was quite content continuing with his game as if nothing was amiss. He was still in his riding jacket and boots, but he looked more comfortable than he would have had Hamilton entered to him tending the ever growing pile of missives on his desk – though, that said, Hamilton knew that Washington would have been more comfortable with _cannon-fire_ raining down around him than he was with the den of hissing vipers and squabbling hens that politics was proving to be. Though the children would never notice, there was a relaxed line to Washington's shoulders, and his brow was soothed from the now habitual furrow it was often to be found in. For a moment, Hamilton was so taken by the subtle change in his commander that he was drawn short, and he stared.  
  
Further surprising was the look of intense concentration and determination on Philip's face as he devoted his all to the game. Hamilton then wondered how many times the boy had lost to the seasoned general, and fought the urge he had to snort at the child's self-assured arrogance having clearly taken a well intended blow or two.  
  
Yet he was distracted from his thoughts by Washington wryly inquiring, “Have you misplaced something, gentlemen?”  
  
At the question, he opened his mouth once before snapping his teeth together again with an audible click. “Well,” he stammered to say. “Now that you mention it - ”  
  
“ - I found them rummaging through Secretary Jefferson's office, now nearly an hour ago,” Washington interrupted in that same easy, genial tone of voice. “I believe that their goal was a bottle of whiskey they had discovered – as they were assured of _treasure_ being hidden in this house.” For that, Washington's gaze flickered over to find his cheeks flushing in damning confirmation, before sliding away to look over the draughtboard once more. “That bottle, unfortunately, you may need to replace, as they were somewhat startled by my arrival and dropped their prize.”  
  
Hamilton winced, and let out a breath long and slow. _Of course they did._ “Of course, sir,” he nonetheless replied out loud. “I'll see to that at once, sir.”  
  
Washington merely tucked away what may have been a smile, and Hamilton shook his head at the surreal nature of the entire encounter. He next glanced to see an equally bewildered Burr standing to his right, and his eyes then found Alexander once more when he laughed aloud at something Nelly had said – and, good Lord, his son was sitting at the president's _desk_ , in the president's _chair,_ all the while dutifully repeating his Latin – a feat which, normally, only Eliza was able to accomplish. He was so taken by the scene that he said aloud, “How is she doing that? That girl is a godsend.”  
  
In answer, Washington glanced towards his wife's granddaughter, and Hamilton was not imagining the smile he gave then. “She is a blessing to this family, it is true,” the president gave, affection clear in his voice. “But I believe it is nothing more than patience, and a firm hand on her part that has the child responding.”  
  
And Hamilton was most certainly _not_ imagining the look that the president fixed on him then. He fought the urge he had to fidget in his place when Philip found an opening in the game, and jumped over two of Washington's pieces to crown his token king. “I think that I am close to winning this time,” the boy proudly proclaimed, looking up at his father to say.  
  
“Perhaps,” Washington allowed the youth. “You are applying yourself well – but beware of overconfidence, as it has already been your downfall more than once.”  
  
Even framed by constructive criticism, Philip fairly beamed in reply to the compliment, and he stared down at the game with a renewed determination. Hamilton snorted at the sight, already knowing better than to underestimate the general when he was down from personal experience - but he would not tell his son that.  
  
Just as Washington turned back to give the game his full attention, Burr stepped forward to clear his throat and say, “While we are here, Mr. President, I have a proposal that I would beg your indulgence to consider - ”  
  
“ - everything in its due time, Mr. Attorney General,” Washington did not look up again to reply. “There is still time enough today for this nation's business; but, perhaps, in the intervening time, you may remind yourself of what you are building for.”  
  
Burr opened and closed his mouth, his brow furrowing as if he could not understand what the president had said. But Hamilton knew that there would be no budging Washington's mind once it was made, and so, when Burr stepped forward with the clear intention of trying his argument again, he reached out to grab the other man by the elbow and say, “Well, in the meantime, if you'd humor me?”  
  
Hamilton gestured to the chessboard that was waiting, open and unattended, next to the tea service their daughters were enjoying, and raised a brow in clear challenge.  
  
A moment passed, and Burr frowned. “You would be brave enough to face me, sir?” Burr asked, raising a dubious brow in reply.  
  
“Oh, I should be asking the same of you, _sir,_ ” Hamilton smiled, and let the other man see the tips of his teeth – a wolf's grin that he normally reserved for the likes of Jefferson and his ilk.  
  
Burr sighed, but seeing that Washington was fully absorbed in his own game with Philip, he waved a hand in defeat before taking his seat before the chessboard. He instantly claimed the black, leaving Hamilton to the white pieces and the first move in a brash show of confidence. Hamilton accepted without a word, not above taking any advantage he could.  
  
“Yet, I have to warn you,” Burr nonetheless cautioned as he patiently waited for his turn, “I shall show no quarter.”  
  
And Hamilton marched his first pawn across the board to answer his challenge by saying, “Do your worst.”


End file.
